


Convince Me of Anything

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Hypnotism, Master/Slave, Mind Games, Orgy, Porn With Plot, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Seduction, Sexual Slavery, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 01:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: A high-priced but inexperienced call girl gets more than she bargained for when she agrees to let a wealthy and perverted client hypnotize her.





	1. Chapter 1

***DISCLAIMER 1***  
This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***  
This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, some characters are coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***  
This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***  
If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

********************************************************************

 

I cross the lobby of the Park Hyatt, faking a phone conversation.  The concierge eyes me with suspicion, but doesn't move to intercept me.  I pop inside an elevator, and search for the button marked “Penthouse.”  There it is.

Cards on the table.  I’m an independent VIP escort, a call girl of the highest caliber.  I service clients, and they pay me well.  Very well.  I'm good at what I do.

But let’s set some ground rules.  Don’t you dare think of me as a hooker.  Hookers stand on street corners and have no sense of taste.  The proper term for what I do is "provider."  I **_provide_** a service, and the gentlemen I see are not "Johns" or "customers" or even "fellows."  They are "hobbyists."  To them, seeing providers is The Hobby, although no-one thinks of this like building a ship in a bottle.  The hobbyists I see are my clients, and for an hour or two, I am their girlfriend.  That’s how it is.

We providers and hobbyists exist in this secret underground of hotel rooms, with the occasional secondary apartment or luxury resort.  Most hobbyists want an hour of my time for GFE sex.  GFE is "girlfriend experience", which means I kiss, I have full intercourse, I cuddle, I feign interest in their interests, and then I leave.  They leave my donation in an unmarked envelope, and pretend not to notice when I slip it into my purse.

Do I enjoy what I do?

Truthfully… sometimes yes, sometimes no.  A lot of my clients are sweet guys.  A little weird, a little overconfident of their sexual powers, desperately lonely.  Most are middle aged, overweight, balding.  But they do their best to look (and smell) good for me.  The sex is okay, even routine.  Occasionally one of them surprises me and I am pleasured too.

Although I’ve only been escorting for three months, I’ve found that the key to doing what I do is to **_never_** do anything you'll regret, and **_always_** get the money.  You may think this obvious, but it took me a couple of “dates” to realize that these are the only two hard and fast rules I need.

Obviously the money is why I'm here.  I have over seventy-five thousand dollars in college loans plus you-don’t-want-to-know-how-much in credit card debt.  On my day job alone, (paralegal) it would take me **_thirty-five years_** to pay it all off.  If I can keep providing (and keep my nose clean) for another four years or so, I can break even.  If only.

I sigh again.  The elevator is nearing the penthouse level.  I adjust my boobs, making sure my cleavage is showing and my little black dress is smooth over my abs.  I have **_great_** abs, may I say.

I'm about to meet a new client, and this is always nerve-wracking.  He emailed me from a private account, requesting multiple hours.  " _Depending on how well we get along,_ " he said.  His references checked out, but I'm still nervous.  If he's a cop, I won't know until its too late.

I step out of the elevator.  Before me is a single door, simply marked "PENTHOUSE.”  I take a deep breath and knock.  A quiet, polite knock.

Footsteps approach the door from within the penthouse.  My heart pounds.  The door opens.

Standing before me is a fifty-something man.  He is bald, big gut, wearing glasses.  His haircut is neat, and I can tell he is freshly shaved.  He is wearing a white, fluffy hotel bathrobe, with an equally fluffy towel about his shoulders.  His feet are bare; I’m guessing he’s naked beneath that robe.

"Hi," I say, using my best smile, "I'm Taylor."  (Not my real name.)  "May I come in?"

The man offers a curt smile and gestures me in.  I slip through the doorway, and allow him to take my coat.

Wow.  I’m in a large foyer lined with marble columns.  A chandelier twinkles overhead; a round marble table with a huge floral arrangement dominates the center of the space.  Those flowers can’t be more than six hours old.  Beyond, I see an expansive, sunken sitting room.

 ** _Holy shit._**   My client is majorly rich.  I like him already.

“Nice place you have here,” I say playfully.

“Come on in,” the man tells me, popping my coat into the hall closet, which is bigger than my apartment’s kitchen.  “I’m Roger.”

Roger leads me into the sitting room, complete with full bar, grand piano, walls of bookcases, and a panoramic skyline view of downtown.  Roger clicks a remote control in his palm, and the deep velvet curtains slide over the windows.  A fire springs up in the fireplace.  Very suave.

He gets down to business.  “Well now,” he says, occupying one of the leather sofas, “let’s take a look at you.”

He plucks something from his pocket and thrusts it at me.  I take it, and am wowed to see five hundred in cash.

“Take off everything, please,” he instructs me.  “Then turn around for me.  Slowly.”

Very well, then, all systems go!  Now that I know he can’t possibly be a cop, I can relax.  I toss my little purse on the sofa, then unzip and slowly shed my dress.  Then my bra, then finally my panties.  I do this all while using my best seductive expression.  “You want the shoes off, too?” I ask coyly.

“Shhh!” he admonishes me.  “Turn around.”

I revolve silently, shifting my weight a little to move my hips in a sexy motion.  I feel his eyes and his imagination crawl over me.

Let me pause here and tell you that I am in no way, shape, or form looking forward to sexual contact with this man.  But this is the job.  I am here to be his plaything, his girl, his fuckbuddy, his girlfriend, or the world’s loosest slut if he wants.  My personal feelings here are not relevant.  I kinda think of myself as an actress, playing a role.  Once our time is up and I have his money, and I go back to my life.  Until then, my body is his.

“Mmmm,” Rogers comments.  “You are gorgeous.”

“Let me pleasure you, baby,” I say in a husky voice, and drop to my knees before him.  Before he can react, I slide his robe back and discover that, yes indeed, he’s naked underneath.

But… what the hell?  His hairy penis is flaccid.

Confused, I glance up at Roger.  I would have thought that my little peep show would have aroused **_something_**.  Is he gay?

Roger scowls at me and pulls the robe closed.  “Sit down,” he rumbles, and I sense I’ve fucked up.  I scoot back, and then sit gingerly on the sofa, a foot away.  I feel a little weird putting my bare ass on this rich leather.

My new client takes a moment to compose his thoughts.  I wait patiently.

“So…” he begins awkwardly, “I have this… specific fetish.  It a weird one, just be warned.”

“Okay,” I say.  I hope I sound understanding.

“I want to make you a proposition,” continues Roger.  “I want you to be my dedicated slave.”

Inside, I groan a little.  Coolly, I say, “I can do the master/slave roleplay thing for you.  But we’ll have to go above my standard rate for this.”

I charge $400 per hour, with discounts after the second hour.  For master/slave, I’ve already decided I’ll add an extra $200 per hour for Roger.  He clearly has the money.

“Of course I’ll raise your rate,” harrumphs Roger.  “You’ll be taken care of.  But here’s the real catch: we will not be roleplaying.”

I blink.  “Okay…” I say.

"I've done this fetish with other providers," he goes on, "and I understand that its not for most girls." he clears his throat a little.  "Your online profile says, _'I am open to new fantasies, and I like trying new experiences with the right gentleman.'_  Correct?"

I nod.  Wow, he memorized my webpage?  Most of the stuff on my online profile is stuff I made up on the spot, but I more-or-less meant it.  More-or-less.

"That’s why I picked you," Roger explains.  “My fetish is a hypnosis fetish.  This means I can’t get it up unless I’m fucking a woman in a hypnotic trance.”

 _…what?_ I think.  The smile on my face freezes.

"Its not for every provider," Roger admits, "but I thought from your profile that you might be open to this."

Before I can politely tell Roger to go fuck himself, he says, "Here's how this will work.  I’ve already given you a donation plus tip for just coming here.  If this isn’t for you, no problem, take your money and just go.”

“If you agree and let me hypnotize you,” he continues, “I’ll pay you $1000 for the induction."  He mistakes my stunned expression for confusion.  "The induction is the process of actually hypnotizing someone.  It takes about ten minutes.  If you agree but I fail to hypnotize you after ten minutes, I pay you your one hour donation plus a thousand.  And that's the end of it."

While I am still revolted, the businesswoman side of me is beginning to see possibilities.  A thousand bucks for ten minutes' time?  **_That_** catches my attention.

Stalling so I can think, I ask, “So… if I get hypnotized…  what will you make me do?”

Roger shifts in his seat, and I realize he is getting hard just talking about this.  ”If you go under and go deep,” he tells me, “I’ll keep you for a few hours.  I won’t lie to you:  This is a power thing.  Once you’re under my spell, you will think and say and believe and do whatever I command you to.  You will truly be my slave.  Not roleplaying.  Real mind bondage.  Then, when we our agreed time is through, I will release you.  Of course,” he adds quickly, “all my suggestions are temporary.”

He pauses, studying me carefully.

"That's the fetish," he says.  "Most girls that I do this with are uncomfortable at first, but then they begin to like it.  There are pleasurable effects to being hypnotized."

 _Uh-huh,_ I think.

"Which brings me back to the money situation," Roger says, leaning forward.  "So if you agree and you are successfully hypnotized, I will keep you tonight for two hours.  And I’ll make your donation $25,000."

My eyes bug out of their sockets.  Did I hear that right?

"Also," Roger adds, "I will probably want to see you multiple times.  Good providers who can perform for me while in under hypnosis are worth seeing again.  I'll hypnotize you on all of our dates.  $25,000 each time.  Plus usual deposits.  Maybe additional bonuses depending on how you take to my suggestions."

My thoughts are flying, counting money in overload.  Oh my God...  in three nights' work, I could...

I could wipe our my debt, **_ALL OF IT_**.  I could put a down payment on a condo.  I could replace my piece of shit Subaru.  I could begin a Masters program.  I could...

Oh shit, I'm feeling lightheaded.   I have to stay grounded.

“But let me be clear,” Roger warns, raising a finger.  “Only accept this proposal if you are willing to be hypnotized to be my slave.  Otherwise, its not worth it to me.”

My head is spinning.  “Baby,” I say coyly.  “Can’t we work something out?  I could **_pretend_** to by your hypnotized victim.”  I part my legs slowly, and move to finger my own pussy and nipple.  Maybe if I titillate him…

“ ** _No,_** ” Roger says firmly.  “It has to be real hypnosis.  Or no deal.”

I open my mouth, close it, then open it again.

Roger scowls.  “Why don’t you take thirty minutes?” he growls.  “Think it over.  But don’t take too long; I really want to fuck tonight.”

**************************

Roger excuses himself, and I am momentarily left alone in that expansive sitting room.  My mind and heart are racing.  The money is so good, maybe if I can just...

Just what?  Let Roger take over my mind for some perverted kicks?  What would he make me do?  What if he commanded me to tell him my real name and number?  What if he programmed me to refuse the money?  What if, once he's in my brain, he decides never to let me out of his power?  **_What if this fucks me up forever???_**

 _Get a grip_ , I tell myself.  I don't know anything about hypnosis. but....  Didn’t my psych professor tell us that you can't use hypnosis to control people?  Otherwise, hypnotists would be running the planet.

Yeah.  Hypnosis can’t control you.  That sounds right.  But...  I’m not certain.

I need more information.  I dig my phone out from my purse and start Googling "hypnosis."  Wikipedia is useless.  YouTube is useless.  I’m getting nowhere fast.

 _Wait,_ I suddenly think.  My buddy Trey, he was hypnotized at a comedy club, right?  Yes!  Yes, he was.  My fingers trembling, I pull up Trey's contact info and call him.  I have less than five minutes before Roger wants his answer.

This is so fucking weird.  Here I am, butt-naked, frantically calling a friend to see if it safe to let my new sicko client mesmerize me.  When I was in high school, this is not how I pictured my adult life would come out.

After ten agonizing seconds, Trey picks up.  "Hey!" he exclaims, happy to hear from me.

"Hey Trey," I reply, hoping I sound casual.  "S'up?"

"Not too much," Trey tells me.  "Listen, Delilah, Gordy, and their friends are doing wings at Nano's.  I’m headed down there.  You in?"

"Sorry, Trey," I apologize.  "Listen-"

"Aw man," Trey says, "you used to be up for this kind of stuff.  Maybe next week?  Hey, did you hear-"

"Listen, Trey," I cut in.  "I need to ask you something.  You were hypnotized at that club last month, right?"

Trey hesitates.  "Uh… yeah," he replies.

I’m desperate for answers.  "What was it like?" I blurt out.

"What was it like?" Trey echoes.  "I dunno...  it was pretty wild."

"Did the hypnotist... **_make_** you do anything embarrassing?" I ask lamely.

Trey sounds wary.  "Well, yeah… but I knew he would when I went up on stage.  I, like, thought I was holding a bunny rabbit, and then later he made me dance like the Thunder from Down Under.  Heh.  I also sang a rap song.  It was really embarrassing, but only after."

"What do you mean, 'after'?" I press.

"Well, while I was hypnotized, I had to do whatever he told me to do," Trey explained.

I suddenly want to throw up.

"Hey," Trey says pointedly, "why are you asking?"

Trey has no idea I escort.  I have to cook up a convincing lie on the spot.  "I’m out for drinks with co-workers,” I fib.  “This guy from the home office wants to hypnotize me.  For laughs."

"Oh," Trey says.  "You're probably okay then.  Just relax and go with it."

I glance at the grandfather clock.  My time is up.

"But..." I say desperately, "what if I go under, but then want to resist what he tells me to do?"

"You won’t want to resist," Trey assures me.  "He can make you do embarrassing stuff, but that’s it.  Once you come out, you're in control again."

I hear Roger approaching from down the hall.

"I gotta go," I tell Trey, and disconnect.  I’ve made my decision.

******************

I sit on the sofa, still naked, feet on the floor, hands on my knees.  Roger stands beside me, and I can't believe it, but he's swinging a pocket watch before my eyes.  The only sounds in the room are the clock, the crackling of the fire, and his voice.

"Focus your eyes on the watch," Roger tells me.  His voice is calm and even.  "As you do, your eyes, your arms, your legs, your muscles will all feel heavy, relaxed.  Allow yourself to relax.  Follow my voice and relax."

So far, nothing is happening.  _Maybe Roger is crap at this?_ I think hopefully.  _Maybe I can fake myself through this?_

"Breathe in, deeply," Roger tells me, and I realize he is watching me closely.  I breathe in.

"Good,” he commends.  ”Now breathe out, but from your stomach."

I can’t believe it, but he spends a couple of minutes telling me just how to breathe.  From the belly, not the shoulders.  I comply, and he makes a comment about how my breathing is growing slower.  He’s right.

About now I begin to feel like a rag doll.  Roger's voice goes on and on, but I don't want to move or do anything.  Oh, I could get up and walk away if I wanted to, but I’m beginning to feel warm and comfortable.  The pocket watch begins to blur before my eyes.

"I'll begin counting down from ten to one," Roger says conversationally.  "And as I do, your relaxation **_doubles_** with each number."

He counts, while telling me how relaxed I feel.  I do feel relaxed.  I blink slowly, and wonder if I'm being hypnotized and this is what it feels like.

Roger counts another number - I can't remember which one - and my eyes close.  They won't reopen.  At first I am tempted to force them open so I can keep my gaze on that watch... but somehow it doesn't feel important.  I feel my head sag forward as my body slouches.  I’m melting into this sofa.

Roger is going on and on, but I am no longer consciously listening.  I feel warm, tingly, detached.  I have two parallel sensations, one of my body floating through the clouds, the other of turning into a jellyfish and floating within a great current.  I feel both immense and infinitesimal at the same time.

I hear Roger very clearly.  His voice is in my mind, intertwining with my thoughts.  He asks me questions: what are my secret sexual fantasies?  Where do I live?  What do I do for a living?  Do I have a regular lover?  Even though I feel detached from my body, I answer him out loud, freely and without hesitation.  The answers flow from my brain to my lips, and I have no power to stop them.  Nor do I want to.

Now Roger is sending me even deeper.  He is giving me instructions, commands which I must obey later.  I am unconcerned.  This feeling is liberating, and my problems are a million lightyears away.

I will obey.

******************

**_“When you next look at me, you will firmly believe I am your favorite sexy movie star.  You will be totally convinced I am this person, and that I have the world’s largest cock.  And you will be positively desperate to fuck me.  You will be so horny, you will follow and obey all of my verbal commands.  I will be your master, you my slave._ **

**_“Now I count up from one to five.  One the count of five, you will awaken.  You will remember nothing, but all of my commands and suggestions will still be in your subconscious.  You will follow and obey them all.  One…  Two…  Three…!  Four…!”_ **

******************

“Five!”

I hear Roger snapping his fingers, and my eyes blink open.  What just happened?

I’m not sure, but I think my mind wandered for a second.  Roger was about to hypnotize me, I remember that much.  But somehow I doubt it will have much effect-

 ** _Holy shit!_**   I glance up at Roger and I realize for the first time that Dwayne Johnson, yes, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, really **_DWAYNE THE FUCKING ROCK JOHNSON_** , is standing right fucking there, smirking down at me.  He’s doing the eyebrow thing and everything.

How…?  I’m dumbfounded.  Now that I’m thinking about it, I guess that Roger was Dwayne Johnson the whole time, I just never realized it… until now?  Holy shit.  How did I not see that Roger was Dwayne Johnson earlier?

It doesn’t matter.

I look Dwayne Johnson up and down.  He is wearing that white robe, and Omigod, his penis must be a foot and a half long.  I’m not shitting you!  **_That_** long.  I gasp, despite myself.

“Hey there,” Dwayne Johnson says to me.  His smirk grows bigger.  So does his erection.

I stand, feeling almost dizzy.  My trembling fingertips touch his pectorals and then his abs, and Holy Christ, they are all like marble.  I trace their outlines.  You know that perfect canyon of muscle and sinew between the pecs?  Dwayne Johnson’s is deep and nearly six inches in length.  The man is **_chiseled_**.  He may have been sculpted.

As I press against this Olympian, my hands brush under his robe and across his incredibly broad shoulders.  Dwayne Johnson’s cock is pressing against me.  I am **_so_** wet.

It all makes perfect sense now.  Dwayne Johnson wanted to see me, but he couldn’t call me and say, “Hi, I’m Dwayne Johnson.”  So he pretended to be this Roger guy, and well… I ain’t complaining.

Our lips touch and suddenly I can’t help myself.  I greedily suck at his mouth, feeling his tongue caress mine.  I press my entire body against him, and I am thrilled beyond belief when those godlike hands begin to explore me.

I want to fuck him.  Now.

Tearing off his white robe, I press my nude body against his nude body.  “Where’s the bedroom?” I pant, all while biting at his neck.  Oh god, am I in heat.

Dwayne Johnson leads me down a long corridor, and soon we are in the master bedroom suite.  “Get on the bed,” he says gruffly.

I leap onto the mattress, roll onto my back, and then spread my legs wide.  Superwide.  I want Dwayne Johnson to look into my wet pussy and go crazy.

But Dwayne Johnson doesn’t leap on me like I want him to.  “Get on all fours,” he orders me.

“Yes master,” I respond.  Without thinking, I do as he commands.  My ass is facing him now.

I hear Dwayne Johnson unwrap a condom and put it on.  Then those wonderful hands are gingerly cupping my buttocks.  I gasp in pleasure, an involuntary pant of helplessness and desire.  I am so horny, I can’t think straight.

Up until now, I’ve always hated doggie style.  Com’on, its demeaning to women.  Seriously, you have to prostrate yourself like a fucking dog while the man pumps you from behind.  Where do you think the phrase “ _make so-and-so my bitch_ ” came from?  And I have always refused to do anal.  I get that it may be your bag, but personally?  Its **_so_** not for me.

But now, now that Dwayne Fucking Johnson is fondling my ass, now that he is my master and I am his slave, now that that magnificent record-breaking cock is mere inches from my tush, I can hardly hold it together.  I want him inside me.  I don’t care which hole.

He dips just the tip into my soaked veejay, like a painter dabbing just a bit of his brush into the paint..  Ohhhhhhhhhhh god, I almost cum at the merest touch.  I cry out in delight.

He dips in and out, again and again.  He is holding my ass cheeks pretty firmly now, so I can’t move.  But I don’t want to.  I want him to plunge in.  All the way in.  Tiny tremors rock my entire body.

“Oh please, master,” I whine.  “Fuck me fuck me fuck me fu-“

And then he grabs my hips and rams in, all the way in.  Oh, I am in sexual heaven, I can’t believe it.  I feel his tip deep within my vagina and his torso slap up against my butt.  His hands jump forward to grab my hips, and he pulls me back, a swift, firm jerk.  I am impaled on his dick and I love it.  I laugh and squeal with sheer pleasure.  I cum on the spot.

He rams in me, again and again and again and again and again and again.  He is like a heavy machine gun, so fast.  Oh god, I never want him to stop.  With his strong hands piloting me, I am completely immobilized, unable to break free, yet completely happy to be imprisoned like this.  I am sure I am going cross-eyed as he fucks me even harder.

I babble in sextalk, sometimes screaming out loud as another orgasm blossoms.  It is like he is pumping multiple orgasms into me at light speed.  The bed itself moans beneath us.

I hear him grunt and then his hands shake as he cums.  His breathing becomes short and clipped as he pumps me still faster and harder…  and then…

He stops.  He is deep, deep within me.  Breathing hard, he is still clutching my hips.  I feel the weight of his torso leaning against me.  There is beaded sweat all down my back.

We both remain there, heaving for breath, neither of us speaking or moving.  My god… I can squeeze my pussy muscles and I feel him deep within me.  He came and he’s **_still_** hard.

After a moment, he slowly withdraws and releases me.  I immediately collapse onto the mattress, a marionette with strings cut.

With a long sigh, he flops down next to me.  I weakly pull myself next to him and begin kissing him.  It is a grateful kiss… I have never had such mind-splitting sex with a client.

Ever.

We lie and kiss.  His hands come to life and pulls me atop that all-muscle body.  I arch my back as he caresses my tits, my shoulders, my shoulder blades, my ass again, my nipples.  I never want him to stop.

Oh god.  He’s hard again.  Rock hard.  We never even had a chance to pull off the condom.  I do this now (he gasps as my fingers dance over his penis) and roll a second condom on.

Taking change, he positions me again into doggie and this time, rams right in.  I am still wet, and I love his sexual aggressiveness.  Again I cum.  Again he cums too.

And that is our night together.  Over the next two hours, my master and I do **_nothing_** but fuck each other.  I am amazed by his dexterity.  I suck his cock, do missionary, do it standing, do cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, side positions, you name it.  I can’t get enough.  He can’t get enough. 

I am so happy he enslaved me.

******************


	2. Chapter 2

***DISCLAIMER 1***  
This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***  
This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, some characters are coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***  
This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***  
If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

********************************************************************

 

I wake the next morning in my apartment, feeling raw but **_incredibly_** well-rested.  Seriously, I feel as if I slept a solid week.  Getting hypnotized does have its benefits.

There’s still a few hours before I have to leave for work.  I make myself coffee, sit on my only kitchen stool, and think over last night.

First: I remember everything very clearly.  I think.  Before I left, Roger put me back under and de-programmed me.  I was still pretty out of it while Ubering home, but the cobwebs are gone now.  I remember the evening:  I remember falling into a trance, I remember thinking Roger was Dwayne Johnson (so weird to think about now) and I remember the sex.  The earth-moving, sky-splitting soul-shaking sex.  If I am honest…

…I’ll admit it may be the single best sex of my life.  No kidding.

But I also remember being totally convinced of everything Roger told me.  What were his words?  He said, “ _Once you are under my control, you will do or say or believe anything I tell you to._ ”

Well, he wasn’t lying.  I think back through all the sweaty sex and yes, while it was award-winning, I clearly remember thinking that Roger in his Dwayne Johnson disguise was my master and I would do anything for him.  Anything.

He could have fucked me without protection, for one.  What is one of the cardinal rules of escorting?  Never do anything you’ll regret.

Well, I gave up control of my freakin’ mind to Roger last night.  I regret that.  I regret that more than I can say.

I sigh.  Sitting on the kitchen counter is my very large, very overstuffed envelope from last night.  I pull it towards me, and its contents spill onto the floor.  There are literally stacks of Benjamin Franklins piling up down there.  Its like a scene from a mobster movie.  I pause, then begin counting the money one more time.

Roger paid me $28,000 for one night of hypnosex.  I’m not sure where the extra money came from, but sometimes clients tip you a couple extra hundred if you provided service above and beyond.  I guess Roger is tipping me?

The money is nothing to sniff at.  We providers quickly learn to just get the money and worry about soul-searching later.  And as I pile up the hundreds like I am building with Legos, I have to concede, this is an amazing payday.  Amazing.

 _With two more nights like this,_ I tell myself, _I could be debt-free forever._

I frown.  I hate, hate, hate, hate that Roger controlled me so completely… but maybe this is a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things?  After all, he could have really fucked me over.  He used condoms, even though I think I would have allowed him to fuck me unprotected while I was in his power.  He could have hypnotized me to refuse the money.  Or compelled me to give him my real name and phone number.  Once you get past the hypnosis fetish and the master/slave thing, he behaved like a perfect gentleman.

I am moralizing.  Roger is not a perfect gentleman.  The question is… can I allow myself to be dominated again to make more money?

******************

Most of the week ticks by before Roger calls me.  He wants me back at his penthouse on Friday, 9:00 PM.  I have no other bookings, so I accept.  But I’m surprised at how nervous I am to be speaking with him again.

Friday night I pull on another little party dress, wrap myself in my overcoat, and Uber back over to the Park Hyatt.  I have really mixed feelings about what I am doing, to say the least.  Before too much longer, I’ll no doubt be naked, once again convinced Roger is my master, and sucking away at his cock.  I’ll probably think its an erotic popsicle, or something.  I wish this evening was over.

Roger greets me at the penthouse door with a forced smile.  We politely hug, and he wastes no time.  “Come on in,” he tells me, and this time leads me straight to the bedroom.  It is illuminated by about twenty scented candles scattered about the room.

On the bedside table, I notice his pocket watch.

Usually when you meet a regular client, you chat a bit.  Hi, how are you, how’s the job, you remember that rainstorm the last time we met, things like that.  Light conversation is a good tension-breaker, and usually leads to kissing… which leads to everything else.  Offered champagne is a nice gesture, too.

But Roger is disinterested in chitchat.  He picks up the watch by the chain, and indicates that I am to sit on the sofa next to him.

Oh god, he wants to hypnotize me right away?  At least this time I’m getting mesmerized with my clothes on.

I’m really nervous.  I make myself comfortable on the sofa, and try to position myself like last time.  Feet on the floor, hands in my lap, eyes forward.  Right?

There are, like, a million butterflies in my stomach.  Why am I going through this?

Roger is studying me closely.  “You okay?” he asks, as he positions the watch before my eyes.

“Yeah,” I lie, “I’m fine.”

“You’re nervous,” he observes.  The watch starts swinging back and forth before my eyes, back and forth.

“Oh no,” I lie again.  “I feel good.”  My heart is pounding.

“I get it,” Roger assures me, and amazingly, he sounds genuinely sincere.  He touches my shoulder with his free hand.  “This is a weird situation for a provider.  There are days I wish I didn’t have this fetish.”

The watch moves back and forth, back and forth.  I’m not relaxing.

“I’ll tell you what,” Roger says casually.  “Don’t worry about the hypnosis thing.  I’ll pay you well just for coming over.  If you go under, so be it.  We’ll just do this for ten minutes and see what happens.”

“You know what?” he adds.  “I think you’ll find that just sitting in the same way as last time will help you.”

What does he mean by that?  I quickly mentally re-check myself.  I am sitting the exact same position as last time.  Why would that help?

I notice that my fingers have unclenched.  My toes are no longer curled up, either.  The watch swings back and forth, back and forth.

“Maybe you won’t go under,” Roger comments.  “That’s okay.  Let’s do this a little longer.  Last time you sat in the same way for me, you went under just fine.”

He’s starting to repeat himself.  How weird.  The watch swings back and forth, back and forth.  I realize that my breathing has slowed and deepened.  My nervousness is fading.  There is something about sitting just like this which is associative.  Last time, I was-

“You see?” Roger says, interrupting my thoughts.  “You’re doing fine.  Relaxing.  It feels good.”

It does feel good, I admit.  In my mind, I realize that I’m falling back into hypnosis, falling back under Roger’s spell.  I could pull free, but…

…oh hell, I just don’t want to move just yet.  The watch moves back and forth, back and forth.  My hands are tingling slightly.  I blink slowly.

“Yes,” Roger says, “that’s it.  Let yourself relax…  You feel so free, so peaceful.  Allow yourself to go deeper.”

He goes on and on about how relaxed and deep I feel, and he’s not wrong.  My lungs are breathing slowly and deeply and there’s something about that which soothes me.  My fear is gone.  In fact, for the moment I can’t remember why I was so nervous to begin with.

The watch swings back and forth, back and forth.  My eyes are locked onto it, but my eyelids want to close.  I want to sleep, to surrender.

Roger’s voice now fills my head.  “As I count down from ten to one…” he begins, but I am no longer consciously listening.  I allow my eyes to close.  The urge to sleep washes over me.

And then I have that detached sensation I remember from last time.  Am I hypnotized?  I must be.  I don’t care.  Roger is commanding me, and I find all I want to do is follow and obey his instructions.  It feels **_so good_**.

My thoughts drift apart as I relax even deeper.  At one point, I think I am aware of standing and stripping nude, but I’m not sure about that.  Roger’s voice flows through my own thoughts, and sometimes I don’t know between the two.

Now I am lying down on the bed.  Roger tells me to relax a hundred times deeper, and my muscles obey.  I remember nothing more.

******************

**_“When you awaken, you will not remember how you got here, nor will you remember getting naked.  You will also be fully convinced that I have tied your feet and hands to the bed posts.  You are powerless to break these bonds.  The more you struggle against them, the tighter they hold you.  You will not feel pain in any way._ **

**_“One more thing…  After you awaken, I will continue giving you hypnotic commands.  You will know, because I will preface every command with ‘Simon says’.  The instant I say ‘Simon Says,’ the next command I give you will go straight into your subconscious and you will instantly follow and obey it as if I had given it to you while deeply hypnotized._ **

**_“On the count of five, you will awaken, remembering nothing, back to your normal mind, but still compelled to obey all the instructions I have given you.  One… Two… Three… Four…”_ **

******************

“Five!”  I hear finger snaps.

I groggily rouse myself.  I’m not sure where I am.  Wait a minute… I know.  I’m in Roger’s four-poster bed.  I’m-

I crane my next around.  Why can’t I move my arms or legs?  What’s holding them?

Oh my god.  I’m naked, I’m on Roger’s bed, and…  I strain to see in the flickering candlelight…  My wrists and ankles are tied up.  I tug at the ropes, but they do not budge.  Oh god.

Roger is lying next to me, naked.  He is actually stroking himself casually, two fingers, up and down, up and down his shaft.

“Roger,” I gasp.  “What the fuck…”

Roger’s smile fades.  He waves a hand before my face and tells me, “ ** _Simon says:  You do not feel angry._** ”

I catch my breath.  My fury melts.  Roger did say he would control me.  I guess I agreed to this.  Sorta.

I lie back, wondering what happens next.  Has he hypnotized me yet?  I… can’t remember.

“I have a wonderful idea,” Roger exclaims, almost playfully.  “I have another way to make you my slave again.”  He leans forward, intoning “ ** _Simon says:  The next time you have an orgasm, you will fall under my spell and be my happy slave again._** ”

My thoughts go blank for a moment.

Roger chuckles.  “Let me introduce you to someone,” he says.  Raising his voice, he calls out:  “Kellie!”

The bedroom door opens, and a beautiful young woman enters.  She is in her mid-twenties, long black hair, willowy frame, delicate Asian features.  I’m guessing she is… Korean?  I’m not sure.  Her body is draped in a red silk robe and as she moves, I’m guessing it is all she is wearing.

“Yes, Roger?” she asks innocently.  But her eyes are sweeping my body.

“Come here, darling,” Roger smiles.  He hauls himself off the bed and practically bounds over to her.

Kellie’s walk is fluid, graceful.  She is almost as tall as Roger.  As they near each other, she allows him to slip one arm around her waist.

Roger passes his fingers over her eyes.  “ ** _Sleep,_** ” he commands.

Kellie’s eyes roll back into her head, and her entire body goes limp against Roger’s stocky frame.  I see her expression go completely blank.

“And now,” Roger tells Kellie, “when you awaken, you will see a gorgeous, sexy young woman on my bed.  Instantly you will become an unstoppable sex robot.  Your programming is to make this young woman cum.  You will do whatever you have to do to complete your mission.  You will not stop until this woman cums.”

I am horrified.  I am strictly heterosexual, and I don’t pretend to like girls even for clients who want two-girl bookings.  Its just not my thing.

Roger carefully lies the limp Kellie onto the sofa and then approaches me.  “Look at me,” he orders.

I do, and I am helpless in his gaze.

“ ** _Simon says,_** ” Roger tells me, “ ** _that for today only, you secretly like women.  You will try as hard as you can to resist Kellie’s tongue.  But in the end, she will make you cum.  The instant you cum, you are my slave again.  Do you understand?_** ”

“Yes master,” I involuntary say.

“Good,” Roger purrs.  “Kellie?  One, two, three, four… five!”  He snaps his fingers.

Kellie slowly sits up, rubbing her eyes with one hand.  She spots me.  With one graceful gesture, she shrugs off her red robe, and it flutters to the thick carpet.

Kellie’s body is a thing of beauty.  She is clearly a runner, for her waist is tiny and I can see the muscles in her legs and butt as she walks around the bed like a predator.  She extends two fingers and runs them up my right thigh.

I gasp.  What the…?  I don’t like girls!  But Kellie’s touch…  I feel myself getting aroused.

“When Kellie makes you cum,” Roger reminds me, “you become my slave again.”

Kellie bends forward, and lightly kisses my right hip.  She’s less than a foot away from my pussy.

Oh man.  I’m in trouble.  I pull on my ropes, but its no use.

Kellie smiles seductively at me, and then her fingers go wandering.  Her left hand lightly traces my belly button, up my stomach, between my breasts, and then travels along my collarbone.  At the same time, her right hand wanders down my outer thigh, over the top of my knee, then slides… slowly… up my inner thigh.

Roger, standing on the sofa, is still stroking himself.  He looks positively wondrous.  “Beg her,” he tells me.  “Beg her to stop, or you will be my slave.”

I am very horny, there’s no getting around that.  “Kellie, listen,” I gasp, trying not to think about those soft fingers as they approach my vagina.  “Listen Roger… he has you hypnotized.  You don’t have to do this.”

“Shhh…” Kellie murmurs, and begins gently kissing my erect nipple.  Oh god.

I can feel the orgasm building within me.  _Fight it,_ I urge myself.

I try again, “Kellie, please,” I whimper.  “I don’t want to… pleaseeeennnghhhh….”  The last word disintegrates into a moan of pleasure as Kellie’s index and middle finger gently penetrate me and brush my spot.

I’m close.  My hips and thighs are buckling as I try to resist the orgasm.   _I mustn’t,_ I think furiously.  _I mustn’t…!_

“You can’t resist me,” Kellie chides, and then she strikes.  While maintaining pressure on my clit, she climbs onto the bed, lowers herself between my legs and trades her fingers for her tongue.  I feel it.  Oh god, I feel it.

I feel it.

As Kellie laps me excitedly, I can’t hold out any longer.  The orgasm burst up from deep within me and I shriek with pleasure as I cum.  I cum, longer and more passionately, then I can remember.  I must cum all over Kellie’s face, and I don’t care.  I can’t hold anything back.

The orgasm is so powerful, my thoughts seem to fade as my body is rocked with uncompromising bliss.  Every nerve tingles.  I feel as if I am gushing with joy and physical delight.

Kellie licks on.

Suddenly Roger is by my side.  “ ** _Simon says,_** ” he says into my ear, “ ** _your ropes are gone._** ”

He’s right; the ropes have vanished.  I don’t care how it happened.  My legs snap up, although Kellie’s hands are in position to restrain them a little.  At the same time, I reflexively grab her hair and push her deeper into my crotch.  She licks harder; I cum harder; I shout louder.

My body starts buckling, as if I am having an orgasm seizure.  And then…

…then I am spent.  I feel the pleasure fade, and I go limp.  Kellie releases me, and then slithers up my body until our eyes are staring into one another’s.  She is lying beside me, gently nestling against my sweaty muscles.  My arms and legs feel tingly and numb, but I manage to wrap them around her.

She smiles, then kisses me.  A tiny kiss, just her lips and mine touching.

I am in love.  I smile and openly kiss her back.  She responds.  In my mind, I know she must have my juice all over her, and I don’t care.  I just want her body.

Kellie allows me to roll on top of her, and I then reach down and touch her pussy.  What has come over me?  Pure sexual instinct seems to have replaced rational thought.  I want to touch her and make her cum too.

Kellie spreads her knees, and yes, she is wet too.  I dip my fingers in and right away I see her eyes roll back.  “Right there,” she breathes.  “Don’t stop.”

I’ve never, ever fingered a woman before.  Seriously!  I’ve let my clients finger me and eat me plenty, but this is the first time I’ve operated the plumbing of another girl.  Amazingly, I’ve found Kellie’s spot right away, and believe me, the girl is ready.

Kissing her body, I go to work.  Kellie doesn’t hold out long.  “Oooooohhhhhhhghggggggnnnn!” she moans.  I feel her spasm.  I know the feeling.

I pleasure Kellie and love every second of it.  Maybe I should start do two-girl bookings.  As Kellie rides out her orgasm, I kiss her over and over.

“And now,” Roger says, “you master wants his slaves.”

I look up.  Roger, my master, is standing over me and Kellie, physically standing on the mattress.  His erection looks huge.

“Yes master,” I say eagerly.

“Yes master, please fuck us,” Kellie moans.  “Please fuck us.”  She rubs her own clit as she licks her lips.

Roger lowers himself down on us, that lustful glaze in his eyes.

******************

Several hours later, I wake in the sex-soaked bed.  I am alone.

The memories are hazy, but they are rapidly flooding back.  I remember Roger putting me under… being tied up…  sex with Kellie…  thinking Roger was my master again….  As I clear my head, I remember everything.

I sigh.  Once again, I lost control.  There’s something really unsettling looking back on these memories where I am under Roger’s spell.

I climb out of the bed and spot my clothes scattered about the floor.  I am sticky from sweat and… other fluids.  So gross.  On my own, I decide Roger owes me a shower, so I pop into the bathroom – which is another whole suite, goddamnit – and scrub every corner of my body.

I dress, and when I emerge from the master bedroom, Kellie is in the hallway, checking her phone.  She’s clearly waiting for me.

“Hey there,” she says brightly.

“Uh… hi,” I reply.  This is awkward.

“I know, right?” she says, picking up on the weirdness of the situation.  When two people first encounter one another because they are hypnotized to have sex with one another, have they

technically met?  I’m thinking the answer to that question is No.

Kellie pops her phone into her back pocket.  “Let’s get a bite,” she announces.  Its not really a question; she’s already decided for the both of us.

******************

Kellie and I wander west for a few blocks northwest to Tempo Café.  It is a little past midnight, but the joint is pretty full.  We squeeze into a booth in the back.  I’m still wearing my fuck-me party dress, so I keep my overcoat on; otherwise I’ll attract too much attention.

As we wait for our food, I study Kellie a little more closely.  Wearing jeans, black tee, bomber jacket, and canvas shoes without socks, she seems a little spacy, but down-to-earth.  I am assuming she is another of Roger’s regular providers.

“So,” Kellie says, her eyes flashing with the delight of gossip, “I have to know: is Roger your most fucked-up client?  Or do you have a weirder one?”

She **_is_** a provider.  I let out an inner sigh of relief.

“He’s out there,” I admit.  A pause.  I can’t help but ask, “What is **_with_** him and-“

“…and the hypnosis, right?” Kellie finished my question.  She throws up her hands.

I say, “He tells me he can’t get an erection unless-“

“You’re hypnotized,” Kellie finishes.  “Yes.  That is **_totally_** true.”

Not for the last time, this blows my mind.  “… ** _the fuck???_** ” I ask.

Kellie shrugs.  “You’ve got me.  Maybe he hypnotized his first girlfriend or something and his brain got stuck in that mode.”

“You’ve seen him often?” I inquire.  Kellie nods.  “Does he… you know, does he put you under every time?”

“Yep,” Kellie affirms.  “Every fucking time.”

“Wow,” I exclaim.

“The first time…” Kellie says, then shakes her head.  “I was so scared.  But he got me.”

“Yeah,” I say.  “What did he make you do?”

Kellie playfully narrows her eyes.  “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

It turns out we both had more-or-less the same experience, except Kellie thought she was fucking Patrick Swayze instead of Dwayne Johnson.

“Wait…” I say.  “Patrick Swayze?  The dead guy?”

“Ohhh,” chides Kellie, “you haven’t seen ‘Dirty Dancing,’ have you?  I have this thing for Eighties men.  Swayze, Don Johnson, River Phoenix, Andrew McCarthy, Kenny Loggins...  So hot.”

“For real?” I ask.

“Don’t judge me,” says Kellie, her eyes narrowing in mock outrage.

One thing I’ve learned from my short time as an escort is that everyone has their own weird sexual proclivities.  Roger’s is obviously hypnosis, Kellie’s is celebrity guys from the Reagan era.  Mine… if I’m being honest… is James Bond, especially Daniel Craig as 007.  Yummy.

Our food arrives.  Kellie has been a provider for a little over three years.  Turns out she was the general manager of an Olive Garden.  It paid pretty well, but there were long hours.  “I got tired of caring that so-and-so’s fries were too cold or this person ordered medium spicy but got slightly medium spicy.  And whatever.”  She rolls her eyes at such memories.

“One night we hosted a wedding rehearsal dinner,” Kellie recalls, “We had thirty-seven people, all yelling at each other, all complaining about anything.  Literally anything.  So much drama.  They trashed the private room, then left no tip.  Nothing.  My people nearly quit.”

She shakes her head.  “I went home that night, feeling pissed at life.  I don’t know what came over me, but I pulled out my selfie stick and I shot all these picts of me topless in my G-string panties.  I whipped up an online provider profile that night, posted the picts… and had two regular clients by the end of the week.  I earned more on two dates than from a sixty hour week at OG.”

Kellie is a pro.  I ask casually about some of her more problematic clients, but eventually work my way back to Roger.  “Doesn’t it bother you,” I ask point-blank, “that while we’re with him, we literally think we are his slaves?”

“No,” Kellie says.

“Really?”  I am surprised.  “You don’t feel like you are giving up **_to much_** when he voodoos you?”

“No,” Kellie repeats.

I cringe.  I can’t help it.

My dinner companion gives me a pointed look.  “We’re **_escorts_**.  The job is to meet with hobbyists and cater to their weird and fucked-up desires.  That’s what we do.”

“Look,” she says, setting down her glass.  “The way I see it is this:  Roger doesn’t hurt me.  He always uses protection.  He is explicit about his expectations.  And he pays me **_insanely_** well.  Do you know how much money I’ve made off that fat little guy?  Also...” she adds, “I have to point out that out of all my clients, Roger is the one who actually satisfies me.  Every time I go to him, I know I’ll have multiple O’s.  Good ones.  Just sayin’.”

“He **_brainwashes_** you,” I exclaim.

“Which would you rather,” Kellie asks, “sex with a fat fifty-something bald guy or sex with Patrick Swayze?  If I’m hypnotized, I’m getting the second one.”

“But…” I argue helplessly, “when you let him put you under, you are agreeing to be enslaved, to-“

“I am,” Kellie admits.  “But I also know its just for a little.  All my clients rent my body; I accept that.  Roger rents my body and my mind.  When I am under, he can convince me of anything.  I go on this little adventure and I believe crazy things for a little while and I have great sex, and then I wake up and my life resumes.”

She slips her water.  “And… I can’t stress this enough…  I go home with a lot of fucking money.”

******************


	3. Chapter 3

***DISCLAIMER 1***  
This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***  
This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, some characters are coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***  
This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***  
If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

********************************************************************

 

I spend the next few days mulling over what Kellie has told me.  She’s been escorting much longer than I have.  While we’re the same age – I actually think I’m two years older – she is much wiser than I am when it comes to sex work.  I can learn a lot from her.

Other parts of my life take over.  At the office, we have a rush deadline, and I’m working twelve-hour days.  And when one of my regular clients flies in from New York, I manage to sneak away to service him during lunch.  He wants me to dress up as a naughty schoolgirl.  Good thing the outfit is tiny enough to squeeze into my lunchbox.

Roger calls me on Wednesday and wants to book me for the following Friday.  Damn.  I was thinking about flying out of town for a weekend to myself.  But he is insistent.  After our second date, he has paid me a total of $57,400.  One more date and I’m debt-free.

So I cancel my flights and the following Friday I am Ubering back to the Park Hyatt, where I guess Roger lives permanently…?  Kellie made some reference to how Roger is going through a nasty divorce.  I guess after he and Mrs. Roger decided to split up, he moved into that penthouse.  He must be crazy rich.

I find the penthouse door open, and I let myself in.  In the main sitting room, there are four other young women, all beautiful, all wearing tiny dresses.  At a glance, I know: they are all providers.  So I am not alone on this date.

Great.

The other women glance at me, then return to their smart phones.  I guess no-one here knows one another yet.  I don’t see Roger, either.

Feeling awkward, I enter, only to hear someone in heels behind me.  I turn; Kellie has just entered the penthouse.  She must have been on the next elevator.  Like me, she’s wearing a provider’s standard uniform: low-cut dress, lots of leg.

“Hey you,” she smiles, and kisses me on the cheek.

I’m relieved to know someone here.  The other girls observe us without expression, almost with an air of resentment.  This is, like, the worst cocktail party of all time.

“Com’on,” says Kellie.  She commandeers the full bar and pours me a Roman Coke.  The other girls drift over, and Kellie bartends.  I’ll give her this much; she knows how to break the ice.

Two more girls arrive, making a total of eight.  I’ve never been with so many providers before.  It’s a little weird.  We all engage in light conversation, but I have a feeling everyone is nervous.  I know I am.  What the hell is Roger planning?

And just when I think about the man, he appears.  Roger emerges from the penthouse billiards room, and I’ll be damned if he isn’t wearing a full tuxedo.  He counts us quickly, and it appears everyone is here.

“Good,” he comments.  “Everyone, put down your drinks.  Anyone need a bathroom?”

After those logistics are sorted out, Roger leads us back through the penthouse.  All nine of us cram into the library.

Our host clasps his hands.  “Now,” he tells us, “everyone sit on a sofa.  Feet on the floor, hands on knees, sit straight up, please.”

I know what this means.  I sit next to a stunning blonde with a Barbie figure.  Kellie sits next to me.  The other girls squeeze into remaining seats.  Across two sofas, there is barely enough room for all eight of us; we sit shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip.

“ ** _Close your eyes,_** ” Roger orders us.  I glance at Kellie, but she’s already complied.  I can tell from her posture that she is already entering a trance.  Roger’s voice has a, well, hypnotic component to it, and already I can feel my own muscles respond as he tells us we are relaxing.  I wonder how many times he has hypnotized Barbie.

I let my eyes close, and suddenly Roger’s voice fills my mind.  “ ** _Breath in, breathe out,_** ” he tells us, but I’m already doing that.  In fact, I can feel my arms go completely limp, my fingers curl, my stomach begin to unclench.  I’m entering hypnosis so quickly, it’s a little surprising.

“ ** _Allow your body to drift into complete relaxation,_** ” says Roger.  He’s walking up and down the floor before us, and I hear him occasionally lean forward to touch or say something specific to a girl.  At one point, he lifts my wrist, and my whole arm feels like a limp dishrag.  At another point, he touches my shoulder.  I fall even deeper into relaxation.

I feel Barbie’s hand slide off her lap and plop down against my leg.  She’s going under, no doubt.  I wonder if Kellie’s superdeep yet.

Roger continues to drone on and on, and I just let his voice wash over me.  Then he does something he’s never done before.

“ ** _At the count of three,_** ” he says, “ ** _you will awaken, yet stay perfectly relaxed.  One… two… three!_** ”

My eyes open and I lift my head.  Somehow I can’t move my body or even look at the other women.  I just stare blankly ahead.  Roger is actually standing just to my left, in front of Barbie.

“ ** _Sleep!_** ” Roger commands the blonde, and she collapses across my lap; I feel her weight on my legs.

Roger moves to Kellie.  “ ** _Sleep!_** ” he orders her.  She is out like a rag doll.  Now it is my turn.

“Look at me,” he murmurs to me.  I lift my eyes to stare into his.  I can’t look away.

“ ** _Sleep!_** ” he tells me, and I am gone.  I am vaguely aware of being leaned against Kellie’s limp body, but soon even that is distant to my senses.

******************

**_“For this evening, you are all waitresses, working in the world’s most erotic catering company.  When you awaken, you will strip naked, for this is how you always serve food.  You are polite, sexy, and submissive._ **

**_“In a few moments, my party guests will arrive.  They are all incredibly handsome to you, and the more time you spend with them, the hornier you will become.  You will happily serve them food or drink.  You will flirt a little.  The more you are attracted to them, the sexier they become, the hornier you become._ **

**_“In a moment, I will count from one to five.  On the count of five, you will awaken.  You will forget this conversation, but eagerly follow and obey all of my suggestions.  One… Two… Three…  Four…!”_ **

******************

“Five!”

I open my eyes.  Every time I come out of trance, I have this momentary disorientation, the way you feel when you are dreaming deeply and then the alarm goes off.  For a split second, you believe you are both in your dream and climbing out of bed to hit that alarm.  It takes a second or two to get your bearings in the real world.

I am slouched on the back of the sofa.  Kellie is leaning on my shoulder; Barbie is still sprawled on my lap.  I stir, and feel Kellie and Barbie awaken too.

As we girls blink and sort ourselves out, I remember why we’re here:  Of course!  We’re the naked catering company.  We have a party to host tonight.  Without much thought, I stand and shimmy out of my dress, then my panties.  Barbie stares at me for a moment, then imitates my action.  Kellie is already up and dropping her dress on the couch.  Damn, that girl looks **_great_** in her birthday suit.

All us women are now naked.  Nothing strange in any of this.  Roger smiles, deliriously happy at so much nudity.  I don’t know why this is unusual for him; we’re professional naked food servers.  We do this all the time.

He pulls out his cell phone and dials.  When the person on the other end connects, he simply says, “They’re ready,” and hangs up.

To us, he instructs, “Come with me, ladies,” and then leads us through the penthouse into the kitchen.  There, we see a chef who has labored for hours preparing trays of hors d'oeuvres.  As we food servers march in in all our naked glory, she stares at us, scandalized.  That’s odd.  We girls have been serving their food like this for a long time now.

I briefly make eye contact with Kellie, and we exchange professional nods.  We’re pros at this.  I select a tray of champagne flutes; she a tray of lobster toasts.

Roger now leads us back to the main sitting room.  Somehow, a large bowl of wrapped condoms has appeared on the center table.  That seems unusual.

Coming through the foyer are a gaggle of college-aged boys, all wearing slacks, sport coats, white shirts, and school ties.  They stop dead in their tracks and gape at us.

“Holy… shit…!” one of them exclaims.  It is the only sound.

We catering ladies assume respectful positions on our side of the room and simply stand there, holding our trays, waiting.  I’ve done this naked catering thing so many times, this routine feels old hat to me.

Roger approaches the boys, and grabs one by the neck.  “Happy birthday, son,” he beams.

The boy who must be Roger Jr. is wonderstruck.  “Dad…” he manages.  “You… you said the guys and I were going out to Scores.”

“Naw,” demurs Roger, “this is better.  No?”  He gestures for me to come over.

I cross the center of the room.  All male eyes are locked on me, either my face, my breasts, or my hips.  I don’t mind; this is totally common in the naked catering business.

As I draw closer to Roger’s gobsmacked son, I feel a stirring within myself.  The boy is young, but **_not_** that young.  He and I must have a, what, three years’ age difference?  That’s nothing.  He’s cute.  No, he’s gorgeous.  And sexy.

I feel flushed.  I am definitely turned on this guy.  Maybe we can screw?  Why am I horny?

Roger takes flutes from my tray, and hands them out to our guests.  My tray is now empty, but I don’t budge.  I want to stay close, if I can.

“A toast!” Roger shouts.  “To Benny!”

“To Ben- to, err, Benny.  Ben!” the other boys chorus, stumbling over one another’s words.  Benny, the birthday boy, turns bright red as my gaze meets his.  They drink.

“Dad,” Benny says, still staring straight at me, “won’t Mom-“

“Your mother?” spits Roger.  “ ** _Fuck her._**   This is your night, son.  And I’m sure this will top that Ferrari she got you, eh?”

Roger takes my hand and draws me closer to his brethren.  Oh god, the closer I get to him, the more I want to jump him.  This is unlike me… I don’t know why I’m feeling this way.

“Isn’t she magnificent?” purrs Roger, caressing my cheek, then neck, shoulder, and finally chest.  He takes my tray.  “She’s Taylor.  She’s all yours, son.”

Benny looks between me and his father several times.

“Go on,” Roger coaxes.

So Benny approaches me.  I’m turned on, but there’s no denying that this boy is awkward in the extreme.  He literally comes at me with arms, tongue, and erection all extended.

“Wait a minute,” Roger cuts in quickly.  He faces me.  “Look into my eyes,” he orders me.

I do so without thinking, and instantly I’m in his power.

“ ** _When I snap my fingers,_** ” Roger tells me, “ ** _you are convinced Benny is James Bond, the sexiest and coolest man alive, and you can’t wait to fuck him._** ”  His fingers click before my eyes.

My thoughts skip for a moment.  When I regain my senses, I’m stunned to see James Freakin’ Bond before me.  Omigod, does he look good in a tux!  I am wet instantly.

“Mr. Bond,” I say in greeting, and I push myself into his arms.  Bond responds, kissing me with increasingly deeper tongue.  I press hard against his entire body, and then guide his hands to my butt for good measure.

We kiss even harder.  I know all eyes in the room are staring at us, but I don’t care.  How often does a girl get to fuck James Bond?  I’m so horny, I’m going for broke.  As James fumbles with my ass cheeks, my own hands wander down his body and undo his belt.  Then his fly.

And then James Bond’s pants are falling down his legs to the floor.  His erection is positively huge.

I drop to my knees and rips down his underwear.  (Who knew James Bond wore tightie whities?)  While I play with his dick in my mouth, he quickly kicks off his shoes. 

I scramble back to my feet.  How do I want him inside me?  Who cares; what is the position that will get me laid by James Bond the fastest?

I pull James to the center table.  Then I swivel around, placing my hands on its cold surface.  My rear is facing him and his magnificent cock.

“Fuck me, James,” I moan over my shoulder.

Mr. Bond frantically grabs a condom from the condom bowl.  I hear him tear it open and then squeeze his tree-like penis into that rubber sheath.  He grabs my hips.

And then he is hammering away inside me, going as deep and as fast as he can with each thrust.  It is like being pleasured by a dildo cross-bred with a jackhammer.  I cry out with delight.  My arms buckle, and my torso collapses onto the table.  James pounds on.  It is wave after wave after wave of chemical bliss.  I am shrieking uncontrollably with joy.

In the corner of my eye, I see that everyone else has circled us and are watching silently.  The hors d'oeuvre trays are set aside uneaten as women silently pair up with men.

I don’t have a lot of brain power to think about it, but let me tell you:  It is really weird when a handful of college guys in makeshift suits and another handful of gorgeous, naked women are all watching you getting fucked like you are street dancing or something.  Everyone is getting aroused; the guys are growing erections, while the women are rubbing their nipples or clits.

For a moment, I see Kellie.  She looks so turned on.

James roars with delight as he cums.  I realize I’ve already been cumming, perhaps from the moment he first rammed in.  It doesn’t matter.  I clench my pussy muscles, doing what I can to clamp onto James’ slimy dick; guys love that.

As he slides out of me for the last time, I pick myself up.  My pussy is still vibrating.  _Fuck yeah,_ I think to myself _, I just boned with James Bond._

I spin around, press myself back against James’ hard body, and melt into his kiss.  His erection is already deflating, and I feel it slither down my belly.  My vagina is lit up like a Christmas tree; I can still feel the fireworks dancing inside me.  Oh, this feels so good.

As I am making sweet love to James’ mouth, Roger shouts out, “ ** _Ladies, when I clap my hands, you all must sex…!  Now_**!”  He has used his hypnotic voice; its like I hear him in my mind, not with my ears.  He claps.

And it is like a sex bomb has gone off in the room.  Instantly, all the women grab a boy and start tearing at their clothes.  Kissing, sucking, groping, moaning, and thrusting are the only activities here.  Many hands claw at the condom bowl, snatching what they can.  Clothes are tossed is all directions.  We are all on the floor, doing our best to hump one another without banging against the table.

As for me, my mind is enveloped by a sex-crazed haze.  James slides off me, pulled away by Barbie.  He latches onto her huge tits and never looks back at me.  That’s okay; I’ve found another stud and am already sucking on his belly.  I feel hands on my ass and inner thighs.  A tongue or two explores my sweaty back.  A cock appears before my eyes, and without thinking, I begin sucking it.

We roll over and over, forever trading partners, never once stopping for rational thought.  At least, I can’t stop to think about what I am doing.  I am like a sex Terminator; whomever is before me, I must attack and ravage.  I fuck and am fucked several times, and I honestly can’t tell you with whom.  I don’t care.

At another point, I roll over and feel someone open my legs.  A tongue penetrates me and I bellow with pleasure.  At that moment, I see Kellie’s face, and without a millisecond of hesitation, I grab her face and kiss her.  She kisses me.  I slide a hand down to her breasts.  Damn, I’d forgotten how nice her girls are.

And on and on and on.  Kellie is claimed by another partner, and that’s okay, because I am too.  How long we are all fucking, I can’t tell you.  I just never want it to end.

But at one point, I pause to catch my breath.  There, sitting across the room, is Roger.  He is watching us intently, smoking a cigar, and stroking himself.  He never joins us; perhaps that is just as well.

Not one hors d'oeuvre is consumed.

******************


	4. Epilogue

***DISCLAIMER 1***  
This is a work of sheer fiction, and absolute smut at that. In no way, shape, or form could these events happen in real life.

***DISCLAIMER 2***  
This work contains detailed descriptions of sex acts. Also, some characters are coerced into the sex, so you might view all sex acts as nonconsensual. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 3***  
This work involves women becoming mentally enslaved to a man, and he takes full advantage. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

***DISCLAIMER 4***  
If you made it through Disclaimers 1 through 3, we should also add that this work is in very poor taste and is probably not suitable for anyone. If this offends you in any way, please read something else.

********************************************************************

 

The following morning, I am recovering from the massive sex overload, and I am fuming with rage.  Roger may pay me well, but goddammit, I have boundaries.  I have never wanted to have sex with a woman, nor have group sex.  Roger must have known this, but while I was in his spell, he bent me to his will for his own perverted fantasies.  The more I think about it, the angrier I get.

And what kind of sick fuck gets his college-age son an **_orgy_** for this birthday?  What happens when that boy finally grows up and thinks back to last night?  I’m no shrink, but I doubt he’ll **_ever_** be able to have a normal, healthy relationship with a woman in his natural life.  Roger may think he is giving his boy an ultimate fantasy, but he may have ensured that Benny will never be able to marry someone.  No grandchildren for you, Roger.

I push Roger from my mind.  I can’t see him again, that much is certain.  But there’s something larger I have to think about.

I need to make some changes.

******************

I count up all the money I’ve earned from Roger: $91,850.  For three nights of hypnotic-induced sexual slavery.  At the first opportunity, I put it all into my checking account.  The teller at the bank looks suspicious when I hand over so much paper money, but I don’t care.  There will be questions from the IRS later, but I’ll deal with those another day.

I next write one check – one! – and wipe out all my student loan debt.  A second check eliminates all I owe on my credit cards.  And with that, I am financially free.  I can’t believe it.

I next go online and delete the profile for Taylor the VIP escort.  I cancel my provider cell phone and email accounts.  As a last act of purging, I throw out all that ridiculous skimpy underwear I would once wear for my clients.  If I ever put on something like this again, it will be for a boyfriend.

I get myself checked out for every possible STD; everything is okay there.  Thank God.

I also begin seeing a professional hypnotherapist, someone with framed credentials in her office.  I explain my situation: I was once an escort who allowed a client to hypnotically program me, and now I want her to go into my head and make sure all posthypnotic commands are canceled.  I also want to be sure I remember everything I ever did in Roger’s presence.  My therapist is absolutely aghast at my story, but she agrees to work with me.

Finally, after all my finances are turned around, I have $16,339.27 left over.  I pop that money into a short-term CD and let it grow.  I’m applying to law schools across the country, and I’ll need that nest egg to move and for first semester tuition when the time comes.  All I have to do between now and then is put up with my stupid job until I can quit.  I can do it; I’m a trooper.

******************

Nine months later, I am about to leave Chicago for sunny Irvine, CA.  Before I go, I want to hang with a friend just one last time.

The oddest consequence from my time with Roger is that I’ve kept in touch with Kellie.  She’s fun; I like being goofy and hanging out with her.  We are meeting at the South Clinton St Starbucks.  As usual, she’s beaten me there and claimed one of the better tables in the back.

I break into a smile when I see her.  I will miss Kellie.

“Hey there councilor,” she says.  “Buy you a drink?”  She has a spiced chai tea waiting for me.

We fall to talking and catching up.  She’s started a karate class.  She’s also found work as a nude model for an art class at the university.

“Every time I make eye contact with the students,” she sighs, “they go beet red and stare at their canvas.”  She imitates this, and I laugh.

A pause.  “He still asks about you, you know,” Kellie murmurs.

“That’s nice,” I say dismissively.

Kellie shakes her head.  “No, no, he totally wishes you well.  Wanted to buy you a set of fountain pens as a good luck gift or something.”

I shrug.  Time has melted away most of the rage I once felt for Roger.  While I **_hate_** how he once controlled my mind, I grudgingly have to admit that his financial generosity has changed my life.  Becoming his slave was my ticket to freedom.  I now think of him as a sick man, but not evil.

I regard Kellie, and I can’t help but asking her, “So… you’re still seeing him?”

“Yep,” Kellie confirms.  “Last week, I was the government’s Official Penis Inspector and…” – she adopts a tone of mock wonder – “…I had to inspect Tom Selleck.  Who turned out to have a cock **_this long!_** ”  She holds out her hands.

I bust out laughing.  I can’t help it.


End file.
